Everyone is howling, whether they realize it or not. Acrylic on canvas 60 x 48
“Howl at the Planet That Forgot Us”
This is not a painting of a creature, nor a planet, nor a night sky. It is a confession. I did not paint it—I merely uncovered it layer by layer from beneath the skin of an ordinary canvas, like a birthmark emerging through time.
The horned shape is The Witness, a being who once howled soundlessly at the first moon, long before moons knew how to orbit. Its eye is a wound that never closes, black and circular, absorbing all memories of names. Some say The Witness was humanity’s shadow, cast backwards through time by a mistake we haven’t made yet.
The glowing orb in the upper right is not a planet. It is a punctuation mark left behind by a language so old it eroded itself into silence. It drifts through the void repeating a single syllable no throat can form.
People ask me, “Why is the sky so textured, so full of purples and bruises?” I tell them: that’s not sky. That is the interior of a buried thought, and we are looking up from the bottom.
Hang this piece in a room where no clocks are allowed. You’ll know why eventually.